Broken Reflections
by Finni
Summary: An obsessive Haku fangirl’s view of what happened between Zabuza and Haku before the series entered the Wave Country Saga. Shounen-aiSlash friendly.


**Title: **Broken Reflections  
**Written**** by: **Finni  
**Rating: **PG-13 for swearing and violence  
**Genre:** General/Angst  
**Summary: **An obsessive Haku fangirl's view of what happened between Zabuza and Haku before the series entered the Wave Country Saga. Shounen-ai/Slash friendly, NO yaoi; vulgar language and violence present.  
**Disclaimer: **All recognizable scenes, quotes, characters, and clothing descriptions are © Kishimoto Masashi, I do not claim any of the aforementioned in any way, shape, or form. I am merely a fan. However, the actual writing is mine. Don't steal and plagiarize.

**A/N:** GASP! A non-full-angst-one-shot fic from Finni! Yes, those who know me will now start rolling their eyes and declare me outsane. Will probably get kind of shounen-ai/slashy later on, at most 4 chapters or so. For those who haven't seen Naruto, GO SEE IT! ^_^ I will use a bit of Japanese here, even though I hate it when other people do that, but it's only for Zabuza-san. I don't like the sound of Mr. Zabuza. Heh. 

LOVE to Chuwei-oneesan for proofreading and helping this n00b writer~ luff j00!

And I love Haku to little bits and wish he didn't die. Please review and tell me what you think and all that jazz; make me one happy fangirl. =P

+++++

"Fuck."

It was snowing. No, not a light, pretty, drifting snow, but the kind that sent shivers down your spine and forced you to squint as thousands of tiny pellets bulleted at your face without end. As each ice bit that struck his face melted into little droplets of water, he trudged through the village hopelessly, trying to find a bit of shelter. The giant, head-slicing cleaver he always carried on his back swung back and forth, sheathless, as he ran through the blasted weather that seemed to have sprung up with no warning at all.

There was no one left for him in this world. He had no family, no friends – he had probably murdered them all – and nowhere else to go to.

He was Momochi Zabuza. 

The Devil of the Hidden Mist.

Freezing in the snow.

... 

"How pathetic." 

Anger clouded his mind again, crowding away all other thoughts until his mind and heart became an empty void desperate only for the power and the killing that he had not experienced in so long.  He was a killer. Simple as that; there was no other purpose in his life than to kill and gain power. And in the end what does he get?

Absolutely nothing.

If only he had some kind of secret weapon! Someone as powerful, no, even more powerful than himself who was under his control. Someone that would follow his every footstep and answer to his every need. Perhaps then, life would be worth living. Perhaps then, he would find his purpose in life than to be used as an emotionless tool.

The life of a ninja was a sad one indeed. To be used as weapons of war and destruction – not to say that he didn't enjoy it – but in the end, there's nothing left but a pair of blood-stained hands. _His _blood-stained hands. Well, that was the light way of putting it. More like drenched-halfway-up-to-his-knees-in-blood. The recollection of what had happened when he was a young boy only fed his hunger for killing, making him lust for more.

Fortunately, the blizzard gradually started to soften, leaving only fluttery white snowflakes that drifted gracefully down to the ground. Zabuza's emotions calmed down with the weather as well. Having traveled across a small, rural country for the past week, seeing a familiar bridge brought a small ray of warmth into his frozen heart. Just across the bridge and he would be back in the Hidden Mist village.

Having sensed a bit of strange chakra on his journey through the Water country, he was vigilant for something strange, but so far had not discovered anything out of the ordinary. Deep in thought as he crossed the bridge, he was neglectful of his surroundings and nearly walked by a child in ragged clothing who was sitting alone and leaning against the side of the bridge.

With a lack of shoes and proper clothing, the child was definitely freezing, and his dirty appearance made it apparent that he had not eaten or bathed in days. His long black hair was uncombed and full of little chunks of snow, but the boy did not move. Zabuza came to a stop and watched the child with menacing eyes that matched the ones of Satan himself. 

The child simply stared back at him with lonely eyes, unable to find his worth in the world and unable to seek the dream that did not exist for him. And somehow, looking at this boy, Zabuza felt a stinging pain in his heart.

"A brat like you will die, unwanted by anyone," he murmured through the bandages that concealed his face.

But the child merely smiled back at Zabuza, and replied in an unusually cheerful tone, "Mister, you have the same eyes as me."

Suddenly, realization struck Zabuza as he became conscious of how lonely he had been all these years, and that he, like this little boy, was longing to be wanted by someone else. He realized that the head protector he wore really meant nothing deep inside, and that he, also, would die unwanted by anyone. There was something about this child that was different. Something that made the Devil of the Hidden Mist feel...

Almost human.

It made him feel hurt and lonely, and for the first time, afraid of what might happen in the future. He stood there, looking into the little boy's eyes.   His muscled body cast a twisted shadow onto the child, and the boy's eyes darkened under the black of his wicked outline.  The sad black orbs that returned Zabuza's gaze made him realize something special about this boy. He had the eyes of one who had experienced death. 

_This little boy?__ Death?_ He thought it impossible and yet, the kid's strange aura confirmed his suspicions that this boy was actually the holder of the same chakra he had sensed before. Perhaps, even the chakra of one who held the power of the feared advanced bloodlines.

"Kid, do you desire to be wanted by someone?"

He looked down at the boy, towering over the body of the child who looked back at him with empty eyes. "Can you give me your all?"

This could be the weapon he had sought for. This could be the break he had been waiting for. And Zabuza's gut instinct told him that this little boy, scrawny as he seemed, may grow to become his greatest asset. He stared at the child, the air heavy with unspoken messages.  In the silence, the child nodded, realizing that he would finally have a home.

"From this day forward, your ability is mine."

No more words were exchanged when the boy slowly stood up, understanding the man's intentions. Carefully, he walked, his bare feet frozen and numb, across the snow-covered bridge to Zabuza's side – a total stranger, and yet, for the first time in his life, someone was acknowledging his existence.  For the first time, he felt wanted by someone else. As he stared up into the older man's eyes, he felt a strong hand pat his head roughly, then clasp onto his shoulder.  A feeling of warmth spread into his body from the other man's hand, and for the first time, he felt like his life was, or may actually be, worth something. 

Zabuza looked toward the Hidden Mist village and, pretending he had done nothing more than pick up a stone from the ground, told the boy in a harsh voice to follow him. Obediently, the child followed.

But he gained more than an obedient follower that day. That snowy evening, a small flame of sympathy was lit in the corner of the Devil's black heart; a white flame that would slowly melt away the anger, hatred, and evil that consumed his soul.


End file.
